


In the Dark

by kissmekatie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brotherly Love, Cuddling and Snuggling, Family, Gen, Shameless Descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:25:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmekatie/pseuds/kissmekatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They weren't always archenemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Mycroft is 9, Sherlock is not quite 3. I assume this must be pre-"childish feud"

"My-crof'," soft words and small fingers brought him to wakefulness, his brother's whisper near his ear in the dark. He rolled over and cracked an eyelid.

"What, Sherlock?" he asked, half-groan, half-whisper. Sherlock's face peered into his, pupils wide in the moonlight, eclipsing white-smoke irises. At two (and a half! Sherlock would always add...) years old, he was already outgrowing his baby fat and looking rather gangly, but his fingers were still gently tapered and soft, with fine, wee nails and smooth palms. One of these hands came to rest whisper-soft on his cheek as he prised the other eye open. "Sherlock?"

"Can't sleep," the cupid's bow mouth turned down into a pout, baby-round cheeks flushed in the dusk.

Mycroft levered himself up on one elbow and ran a hand over his face. "Did you have a bad dream?" He tousled his own hair back from his forehead with fingers already heralding impending adulthood; still soft, but with long fingers and bony knuckles.

Sherlock's chin dropped and he gazed up at his brother through messy dark wisps, soft like silk filament and glossy like tempered chocolate. "Yes," he nodded, as if ashamed to admit that his own mind had run away with him.

"Well, c'mon then," Mycroft scooted back toward the wall, grabbing the edge of his coverlet and holding it up, effectively opening his cocoon. Sherlock scrambled in at once, flipping on his side to press his back against the solid comfort of his big brother. Mycroft settled the little boy against his chest, tucking silky ringlets under his chin and wrapping a protective arm around narrow ribs.

"Thank-you," the murmur came from approximately the level of his sternum and a little hand gripped two of his fingers. Mycroft just nodded and closes his eyes.

"Sherlock!" he hissed a moment later when cold toes found his knees. All he got in response was an impudent giggle and the toes wiggled once or twice. They stayed where they were. Mycroft sighed and glanced down to where sooty lashes lay in tiny fans over ivory cheeks, like a living cameo. With a halfhearted roll of his eyes, he resigned himself to the diminishing cold and breathed a sigh against his pillow. "Good night, brother."

"Night-night," came the sleepy reply, and Mycroft slipped into slumber as he felt the child's breathing even out along with his own.


End file.
